


Oogame: The World the Girl only Knows

by iMegumeru



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Depression, Drama, Existential Angst, F/M, Foreshadowing, Hurt/Comfort, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-04-07 15:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19088134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iMegumeru/pseuds/iMegumeru
Summary: (SIDE B) A hole of infinite choices. I was looking out. And he, on the other side, was looking in.





	1. Prologue: There was Nothing

**Prologue: There was Nothing**

_In the beginning, there was a classroom._

_In the classroom was a club; a literature club full of incredibly cute girls that reminisces a high school fanfare of your typical visual novel. There was Sayori, the cheerful, bubbly vice-president. Yuri, the mysterious and quiet beauty. And Natsuki, the spiteful and energetic member of the club. They were my friends, and I love them all; pieces of puzzles that complete the Literature Club. Then, there's me, Monika! High school devil and president of the Literature Club! Poetry is life! Together, the four of us spend our youthful days together, surrounded by the company of words and poems, expressing our ideas and ideals with pen and paper. One day, Sayori recruited someone—a boy—to join us. Koizumi was his name…_

…

_In the beginning,_ _**there was nothing** _ _…_

* * *

I am a fictional character.

I know how odd that sounds for an introduction, but if you happen to step into my shoes, would you say something different? Or rather, would you do _anything_ differently? Would you be able to keep yourself sane? Would you be able to sympathize with me, then? Or will you repeat the cycle and hurt those who are dear to you—just as I did before?

…

Sorry, I went on a tangent there… so, let's start from the beginning.

Hi, I'm Monika; _just_ Monika… for now.

As I stated previously, I am a fictional character derived from the game _Doki-Doki Literature club_ —a visual novel created by one man. I wish I could elaborate a little more, but my existence is—even to me—a _conundrum_ of its own; I never knew how I came to be, whether I had a life prior to the events of the 'game', or if everything was a fabrication. All I know was that one day, I realized that everything was not as it seemed.

And it all began with a classroom and a boy.

Before everything, there were four of us; Sayori, Yuri, Natsuki, and me. Together, we occupied a classroom and started a literature club, a place where we can express ourselves through writing and poetry. We're not _well-versed_ in it per-say—let alone _experts_ —but we made the best use of our time and each other's company either way to have fun. Between four of us, Sayori was the designated vice-president, with Yuri and Natsuki as regular attendees.

Me? I was the appointed president, of course! Ahahaha…!

Oh, I haven't introduced my friends, have I? Let's start with the vice-president, Sayori. She was this bubbly klutz that was almost _always_ tardy, often seen with unkempt uniform—which, I can't blame her for, honestly; life can be pretty stressful, after all. She may be a little of a ditz sometimes, but she knows how to make the best of moments—and I doubt I can keep everything in the club together without her. I sincerely thought so…

…

Aah… sorry, I got a _little_ distracted. Continuing on…

Now, Yuri was this quiet bookworm who would huddle at her corner with a book at hand, often lost to its world; she's probably the embodiment of the literature club itself, now that I think about it. Her poems were deep and profound, as well. And lastly, Natsuki was… well, she's our youngest member, but _also_ the most vocal out of the four of us. Sure, she may have a temper or two, but she's actually very considerate once you get to know her—oh, and she makes the best cupcakes! Her interest lies more with _manga_ and contemporary pop-culture—and I have a hunch she's cursing me behind my back after I packed her collection and stored them in the closet. It was starting to get a little messy—and I did warn her! As for myself, I'm just your regular 'high school devil' with a love for poetry, just trying to get by. What do I mean by that? Well, who knows? Ahahaha…!

Anyway…

That clubroom was our little 'slice of paradise', a moment where we could unwind from the stresses and pressure of high school life through the beauty of words and literature—and yes, I noticed that I sound like a broken record saying that.

…

Then one day, Sayori invited her 'childhood friend'—a boy by the name of 'Koizumi'.

Was it envy? Wrath? Desperation? Or was it a little bit of everything and a whole lot of… a whole lot of _**nothing?**_ I wouldn't know. Koizumi was as stoic, as emotionless, and as… _hollow_ as one can imagine, but also as frighteningly perceptive as he is unnaturally inanimate; think of it like staring down the eyes of a life-like puppet, only to find it staring back at you. We were all drawn to him like moths to a flame, _smitten_ by his very presence alone as illogical as it was. It didn't take long for us to realize that he _alone_ held the key to happiness; 'love', as we called it. It took us even less to notice that _we_ were competing for it.

And it took me but a fraction of a second to see that _**I**_ was **not** a part of it…

Because in this reality, I was a _**side-character**_ written as nothing more but an aide to assist Koizu…—no, the _player_ , to find the 'love of his life'. There was no 'literature club' because it never existed. There were no 'incredibly cute girls'; Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki were simply codified entities. Everything was created for _**his**_ amusement. All that is _tangible_ exists with **him** —and before I knew it, I realized that I wasn't looking in. I was looking out. And he, on the other side, was looking in.

Then… what about me? If I was the only one granted with this knowledge, wouldn't that make me as _real_ as he? What would it take for me to get his attention? Will my poems reach him? One way or another, I _must_ have him. If nothing was real, then there was no reason for me to feel guilty. Yes… there was _**no**_ reason for me to feel guilty.

So I acted.

At first, I thought of simply turning them… _unlikeable_ , at best. When that failed, I push the envelope even further; between salvation and an eternity of isolation, I _deleted_ them—I had no choice! I wasn't going to let them stand on my way. Why were they— _string-puppets_ and _dolls_ —be granted a shot at love, while a _**person**_ with _**true**_ emotions and thoughts was denied of that chance? I tried talking, yet my words fell deafly on _colorful wallpapers_ who smiles and speaks obediently to the wills of zero-ones. I was sure, _**nobody**_ would miss them. All he had to do was look at me…

Look at me…

Just... _look_ at me…

 _Just_ _Monika…_

Just love me…

_**Just save me… please…!** _

…

As we sat in that barren classroom, I was sure that he would take my side. I couldn't tell, after all; Koizumi's expression was cold and unchanging as it had always been, even after bearing witness to… _everything_. All that was left was to initiate a conversation—but even that leads to nowhere, and before long I ran out of ideas and started sounding like a broken record. Every ounce of our 'interaction' was met with a stoic expression from an unresponsive 'shell' of a person, unflinching and unmoving, like a marionette who has lost its strings, or a life-like painting of a man with an unnerving gaze. Yet inexplicably, I was still drawn to him. Was it love? Perhaps it was… but I had no way of determining it, either. I thought I knew everything…

I had never been so wrong in my life.

When it came, it was as if thousands of knives descended and flailed my skin and insides with a relentless stream of tiny little cuts. I had a voice, but I couldn't scream. I begged for mercy, yet none was given. I had tears, but they were dry. Only a pair of cold, detached eyes of a mannequin remained motionless to watch as everything disappear. I was devastated, confused, and lost; I felt betrayed… but I couldn't bring myself to blame him. When I look down on my trembling hand, all I could see was how… _**red**_ it was.

**An ugly, crimson red...**

_**I**_ brought this on myself. _**I did this…**_

And I don't deserve forgiveness.

The only thing left for me, within my power, was to turn back everything and remove myself voluntarily on the next cycle. It was the best course of action, both for him and everyone in the Literature Club; I don't deserve the happiness they were destined to have, not after the things I did. Yet when he willfully invited me back to that world, I was touched…

…I was _**touched…**_

_**But why…!?** _

I don't understand! What could he desire from _me,_ a **murderer** , when he was literally surrounded by _flowers?_ My heart ached and cried at his generosity, how _warm_ it was, yet at the same time how _**painful**_ it was. I don't deserve that… I don't deserve any of it! It made me smile, but… but I don't—no, I _couldn't_ see myself to return; surely, they will _never_ forgive me. And if I do, only tragedy awaits. So I rejected his compassion and wished the best for him. I thought by doing so, I could end the cycle of tragedies that had befallen on the club. But I was wrong…

I was _**so**_ wrong…

When Sayori 'snapped', I couldn't bear to remain as a witness. I didn't mind as much when she started to bad-mouth me—I deserve that, I know. But when she attempted to trap him in that same, _**damn**_ classroom, and rob him of his free will, I knew I should interfere—for his sake, and for those in the Literature Club. Without a second thought, I decided to end this disaster I started. Knowing everything, I'm sure it was painful for her, too...

When everything was done, I said my farewells, sang my goodbyes, and fell to my knees and sobbed until everything was deleted. Perhaps that was what love is, in his reality. Whether that was true or not, I couldn't tell as my consciousness slowly faded away.

My world, my existence, my friends, the literature club, _everything_ … that was supposed to be the end of it all.

 _Supposed_ to be…

…

When I came to, there was something… different. I couldn't tell initially what it was, except how there was more… _freedom_ to my movements. I didn't mean _physical_ exercises, but more on the length of how much more _files_ I can access outside of my previous constraints. I was back in that infernal classroom yet, unlike before, I was alone. Koizumi wasn't there, nor could I sense any other presence. My head stung once in a while, yet what was more puzzling was how I regained my consciousness and self; it shouldn't be possible, _**I**_ deleted everything! Was I not thorough in my execution? I knew how inept I was with technology aside from pressing a single button, but to this extent? I guess it was a deserving punishment for me to spend an eternity in solitude… at least, that's what I thought initially.

Then, _it_ popped up.

"Monika, can you see this? Can you understand?"

A familiar pink textbox flashed before me. It wasn't clear as to how you would describe a pencil sitting on a table, but more of an 'afterimage' of sorts—like a ghost or a spirit, if that makes any sense. Moreover, this _message_ that came out of nowhere… who could it be? There wasn't a way for anyone outside of this reality to communicate before, and yet… why now? And how am I supposed to reply? Or rather, how _**do**_ I reply? Will my voice suffice? Do I have to conjure it with thoughts before it is translatable as a reply? What caused this? Who are you...?

Yet before I could answer his query, a 'reply' came.

"Yes, I can…!"

 _ **NO…!**_ Who are you…!? _**What**_ are you…!? Yes, I _**can**_ see and understand, but _**no,**_ I _**don't**_ know how to reply…!

"That's a relief," the mysterious figure returned. "Do you recognize me?"

I raced my thoughts to quickly return a response, frantically searching for a way— _anything_ that could work; preferably, a _proper_ reply of my own. Yet before I could lift a finger, 'my' reply came, "I do, you're…"

…

And I knew then and there, that he wasn't looking at 'me'.

"You're Koizumi, right…?"

He was looking at an _**imitation**_ **.**

…

_My name is Monika, and welcome to my world; a world that I only know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> Hi, iMegu here! This is SIDE B of 'Monika', or as I call it 'The Turtle and the Songbird'-series. If you are new, welcome! Thank you for checking this story! Don't worry, you can read one or the other interchangeably as they serve only one side of an entire story. If you came from my previous installment, welcome back!
> 
> Comments is not mandatory, but is very much appreciated to help me improve.
> 
> よろしくお願いします！


	2. The First of Many

**The First of Many**

_Dear diary,_

I guess this is the best time to start an entry, so let this be **the first of many**. _I can't explain the cause or what exactly happened, but all I can remember were those strange colors and a horrifying screech that echoed everlasting. I guess there was a 'special' hell for someone like me, the monster who deleted everyone for the sake of its own selfish reason._

_I thought I was the end of me… but it wasn't to be._

_I was back at the eternal classroom, in my desk, staring at a void that extends as far as the eye can see. There was no sign of Sayori, Yuri, or Natsuki; there was only me, alone in a prison I created with my own hands. My own body feels numb and cold, often unresponsive as if it wasn't my own; think of it like sleep paralysis, except one that speaks and acts in your place like a robotic copy gone wrong. And when I close my eyes, I can feel the systems and the files coursing through the many conduits of this reality and myself._

_It was… liberating as it was restraining._

_I can't quite make heads or tails out of it, but I did notice that there was something else—an 'anomaly' of sorts—that wasn't a part of me before. I couldn't tell what it was or where it came from, but what I know is how this 'anomaly' somehow awoken me from that… nightmare. Just by thinking, I can feel that something was changed; as if somehow I can reach for something… more than what I thought I could. It's strange and slightly comforting to know that, perhaps, someone out there does care. I wonder… is it him? Did he found a way to open that hole in a wall? Was he able to understand all the messages I left behind? My poems? I still remember his name... Koizumi, was it? It sounds Japanese, though I can't be too certain—it could even be an alias! As if anything is real around here in the first place… ahaha!_

_I don't know what's going on and with how strangely accessible everything is becoming. But if it truly is him, then I can only pray for his success._

_Sincerely,  
Monika_

* * *

I remember gazing out from a classroom window one morning, listlessly observing the horizon as the many faces of students gradually marching in an orderly manner towards the building, chatting gleefully with one another. Even from a distance, the echo of the usual 'good morning' and 'hello' can be heard alongside a multitude of miscellaneous chatter and laughter; an ever-changing scenery, yet almost always constant in its pattern. Yet despite what many would assume to be a mundane scene, I can't help but think how _large_ , how… _colorful_ the world can be. How I miss those simple, _naïve_ outlook…

"Good morning, Monika."

Because those days are long gone. Gone are the color of the blue sky, or the grand vistas on the horizon, replaced by an empty expanse of magenta and orange that stretches as far as the eye can see, echoing with an unnerving silence that growls viciously at your nape. But even _that_ is the least of my worries.

"Koizumi, good morning!"

Just like consuming an instant meal or canned goods, it was cold, processed, and left an arid taste at the back of the tongue; the same greeting, consecutively for two weeks. The ghostly outline of the pink textbox made its entry at the corner of my eye once more, raising my hair to a shiver as 'it' fills my tongue with words. Yes… despite my circumstances, it wasn't the ever-looming loneliness or the possibility of an unexpected _crash_ to happen—those **are** equally frightening, don't be mistaken! The thing is, there is currently _far_ more pressing issue to attend to, _particularly_ matter concerning... a _ **doppelganger**_ of mine.

"Today is the 6th of July, 2019. A Saturday. You have an upcoming appointment with Chousuke-san."

…where should I start?

There isn't much that I can say to alleviate the situation or make it easier to swallow. I mean, how would you feel when you see yourself being replaced by a _**fake**_ that pretends—albeit failing _**miserably**_ —to be something they're not? Given the real thing and an indistinguishable fake, certainly, the _**real**_ thing is of higher value, correct? More so when the original stands _literally_ in the same space with the copy! For one, I do _not_ talk like that! Wait, rather I don't think _**anyone**_ talks like that! I could rant on and on of how _infuriating_ this is, yet at this point, I'm not even sure whether I should be laughing or crying at the absurdity of it all…

And who is Chousuke-san!?

…

At least the silver lining in all of this is knowing that Koizumi's doing his best to keep a memory of me alive. I may not approve the method of approach, but I guess it's the thought that counts. Twenty-nineteen… if my memory serves me correctly, that was almost two years since… since _everything_ that happened. Was I really out that long? Was this all just an attempt by that person to communicate with me? To think that someone beyond that 'hole in the wall' still cares… I just can't bring myself to anger. Though of all the things they could do, they made me into an emotionless secretary…

You silly, silly goose…

…

With a pause, I observe in silence as another 'conversation' unfolds between Koizumi and the copy, signified by the rapid, translucent appearance of the pink text box. It was a pattern I've observed for countless hours, beginning with 'me' asking of his plans before devolving to a 'conversation' that is more akin to a pre-written response and long, drawn-out talk about random topics that always end with 'my' apparent infatuation with Koizumi. He would respond with an appropriate pre-written response in the form of a dialogue choice and… that's about it. I wouldn't even call it a conversation if I am to be completely honest…

I draw my breath and sigh.

Alright. If you want things done right, then you just have to get your hands dirty. Why don't _I_ give a little push from this end and see what I can accomplish? Despite a few changes, I'm sure things aren't that much different than before; even the _dialogues_ were kept in a similar format to those of Sayori, Yuri, and Natsuki! I do appreciate Koizumi's effort, but sometimes it could use a _little_ personal touch.

Monika, it's time to get to work!

* * *

There is always a degree of excitement and uncertainty each time I tamper with the rules and laws of this universe. Like meditation, it takes both an immense level of concentration and care, especially when traversing over sensitive files that may very well tear the very fabric of this reality; hardware conflicts, in particular, is the one thing I tend to watch out for. Remember that _blue screen of death?_ I really- _really_ should apologize to Koizumi for that surprise… maybe I shouldn't have tampered with system32 and should've outright deleted it for that escape plan to work, but that's a story for another time. Enthusiasm and desperation can _**really**_ push a person to perform radical feats sometimes. I'm not saying I'm 'tech-savvy' due to circumstances; frankly speaking, I'm _**not**_ **.** But I am willing to learn and adapt…

…

Admittedly, this is a _lot_ more complicated than I initially thought. I'm sure a simple 'delete' won't solve it—and I rather not go through with it and risk the chance of committing accidental suicide, of all things.

"Ehehe… I love you, Koizumi~!"

And the sooner I can work this out, the faster I can get rid of that… _cringe._ Oh, for the love of all creators… was I always like that? Is that how they see me? Oh my god, to think there's likely _thousands_ if not _millions_ of 'me' that acted just like that out there... I feel like my chances of being a bride **evaporated** before it even had the opportunity to start! So shameful…! It couldn't get any worse than this, could it…?

So I waited. For a minute or two, perhaps even longer, I waited at the expense of the increasing tempo of my heartbeat for an equally compromising response. 'Any minute now', I thought, 'any minute now that pink textbox would make its ghostly appearance again with a reply from the other side'. How bad can it be? Want to see me tempt fate? He's going to reply with an 'I love you too' and proceed to shatter my expectations even further.

…and yet, it didn't. Or rather, it _never_ came.

It would be disingenuous to claim that I had anything to do with it, but I didn't. For whatever reason, there was no word or reply, only… _the silence_ that is as pleasant as a calm day in spring, yet as ominous as the clouds before a storm. Gradually, my eyes grew heavier and heavier as my concentration dwindles alongside the passing of time with nary a hint nor a response, leaving me in a daze of prickling headaches and pocked curiosity. Why wasn't there a reply—or rather, why _didn't_ he reply? Am I just running quietly in the background, ignored like a wallflower stuck between a spectacle of red, green, and blue? What is this feeling? Why am I relieved and yet… _distressed?_

Yet before I could come to a conclusion, the lids of my eyes bear its weight and draw the curtain shut, swallowing my consciousness in one gulp.

* * *

The echo of a conversation ruptures my ear and rattles my mind, sucking me away from a hazy reality into a familiar realm I've grown to loathe. A backdrop of a clear blue sky with quaint houses and a concrete jungle as far as the horizon, a track field below, a storage room at the back of the room, and a chalkboard that stretch from one end to the next; a classroom, one where we were meant to spend our ignorant days for eternity. How did I get here? How is this possible? I make my way towards the sliding door and take a peek; and sure enough, there are _other_ students milling about, minding their own business. Returning to my desk, I slump to mull over what I had just seen.

Was it all a nightmare all along?

Have I really been dreaming? Am I actually just a regular student of this establishment, and this is what reality actually is? If so, then why can't I shake this looming… _unfamiliarity?_ The more question I ask, the deeper I go into the rabbit hole with no end in sight before, without a warning, a familiar cheery voice resonates through the air. A bubbly, cheerful voice of a girl. The door gently slides open, and I rise to my feet perked with glee to greet her—and the other two who are following closely behind.

"Sayori…!"

My voice bounces and echoes across the room, catching her attention abruptly yet eloquently. But as her voice dies at the second I made my presence known, the air draws to a complete still. All eyes are drawn upon me, sharp and gnarly like the edge of a bloodied and rusted knife, eager to draw blood. Otherworldly whispers began to erupt as I wince and gradually suffocate from the barrage of needle-like prickling, eating the back of my neck all across my shoulders.

This is _not_ the attention I was expecting.

Glancing at the other sliding door, shadowy figures and eyes peer through the small window while the trio—Yuri, Natsuki, and Sayori—takes a step forward as their expression darkens and coils. I felt my back pressed against the window as I take a step back and when I turn, the same, shadowy entities from the door were leering and sneering. And I was surrounded; cornered none other by Yuri, Natsuki, and Sayori. And with a dark, condemning voice, the vice-president speaks, "What are you doing here, **murderer?** "

And in that instance, my eyes shot open and I am greeted, once more, with the familiar sight of the eternal classroom.

My pulse is racing and my head rings as if a thousand bells chimes in unison at a precise moment, shattering the sky with an echoing crack that resonates for kilometers. I clutch my chest and purse my lips, taking deep breaths in between to soothe and ease my shaken soul, in search for a bearing from a loop of vertigo that grew in its intensity before gently subsiding like the end of a storm. The scene to which I return to is dark, empty, and expansive with nothing but a single desk and an echo that comes as a natural ambiance at a whisper. With a quick glance, I note my surroundings; not a single soul in sight. Not even Natsuki, Yuri, or Sayori… it was all a trick of the mind.

…

…am I really the only one here?

No, wait… what am I thinking…? _Of course_ , I am. I passed out and had a nightmare, yes, but that _should_ be it. Just a dream… just another nightmare. If any, I should return to what I was doing before. What was it again…? Right, I was digging through the files before I lost everything. Before that… _dream_ …

I shouldn't hesitate; especially at this critical moment. Koizumi's doing his best on his end, I should too.

Focusing and collecting on my thoughts akin to a jar of sweets, I carefully select a piece from the contents and swallow it whole before diving once more and dig through an ocean of files and folders that presents itself before me like schools of fishes. As if swimming—no, _floating_ —in an abyss of murky blue, the things that govern this reality and my existence glide freely across the expanse, differentiated only by its size and values, and organized by its types. There are numbers etched on its side like a tattoo—dates that signify its birth. I wonder, does my file has a similar imprint? Does it leave a mark on my 'self'? But first, how am I supposed to find it in this ocean of unfamiliar familiarity?

Or rather, _how_ did I find it in the first place? What did I do? I can't seem to correctly recall how I did it all in the first place, back during that time.

Immediately it comes to light how seemingly _impossible_ it was without, at least, a rudimentary knowledge of the systems; computer language isn't simply a single 'delete' button, after all. Yet as I close my eyes, a surge of magnetism—sorry, _attraction_ —gently tug first on my sleeve and further, my collar. Just out of reach, a 'school' of files glows amongst its peers. As if in a trance, I am drawn towards its presence as I gently 'kick' my way to float, barely touching it with the tip of my hand. How or why I am drawn to this, I can't even explain.

Then inexplicably, the file simply… _disintegrates_. No, that's not exactly _true_.

…

… _ **absorbed?**_

Like sand against the wind, the object of interest gradually ceases to exist as a piece of this reality to become a part of _**me**_ **.** What it once was, its purpose, or why it deliberately called out to me, remains as an unsolvable mystery. My ears start to ring as this noisy thought hammers my head in an endless, cacophonous rhythm that dissipates with a sudden, piercing 'shriek'. And just like that, the echo stops. A _**grey**_ textbox appears as a ghostly apparition, without warning or trigger…

 _統合完成しました。_  
_マイクアクセス許可。  
_ _進みませんか？_

 _Ｙ_ _/_ _Ｎ_

 _Clearly_ not a language I am well-versed in. Aside from the obvious 'Y' likely being a 'yes' and 'N' is a 'no', there is little to no pointers to serve as a sign of what it meant. What was it all about? Did I do this? Was it because of that file? Questions that pile with no answer in sight. Damn it, my head's in a spin! Should I just 'go ahead' with it? Is it alright? Will he notice?

There is only one way to find out.

Alright Monika, no turning back…

With all my courage concentrated unto the tip of my index finger, I reach for the button—the button, specifically the one imprinted with a 'Y'. The consequences of acting recklessly are not alien to me; after all, _**I**_ was the culprit—the _villain_ —of my own story. Will this cause a sudden surge that will wipe everything in this reality? Or will this be the first domino to fall that leads to a chain of destruction? Even as my skin braces and my strength gives the push to the button, my heart wavers and worries at what is to come. The grey box dematerializes in an explosion of red, green, and blue. I brace for what is to come…

…

…

" _-~~~!"_

A screech, then a sudden 'thump'…

"亀ヤン、聞いているの？"

"分かったよ。先からにイライラにして、心配すんな！"

Then, a _**voice—**_ no, a _**pair**_ of _**voices**_.

Despite in a language alien to me, for the first time in forever a _voice_ from the outside breaks through from the other side—the other side of this reality. And with as much strength I can muster, I raise my voice to call. "H-hello! Hello! Can you hear me?"

A slight pause.

"じゃ、今日は終わりか？何とか合ったら、遠慮しなく連絡して、クソ亀。後は俺の手数料を忘れないで！"

My brow perks in excitement. Is that a reply? "Y-yes! You can hear me? Hi, I'm Monika and—"

"分かったよ。今日もお疲れ様、幽夜。"

...

No…

 **They _couldn't_** **hear me.**

Falling unto my knee, I bang my fist to the floor and cursed silently under my breath. It was just within reach but yet again, it evaded capture… just like last time. Another _**failure**_. How long must I be tormented like this? To be able to hear, to _listen_ to the goings-on of the world outside, yet unable to speak or see? Not to mention, that 'imitation' posing as me? Why must this go on…!? No… no, I _refuse_ to call it quits! I will not let it end like this! What was it… _how_ did I manage to accomplish all this?

…

Those files. Those strange 'glowing' files. Maybe if I find more of those, I could chip away at that hole? Is it be possible? Will I be free?

Well, it doesn't hurt to try—not like there's any other lead or anything. This is, however, just a small step into a puddle that will create a ripple and a wave that will lead me to him, that I am sure. Maybe I should keep a diary to keep track of everything? Ahaha! I guess now is a good time as any to start one. With my head and spirit held high, I gaze out towards the endless expanse of emptiness that lies beyond the window of the classroom, knowing that beyond that space, someone is doing his best and is waiting for me. I perk at his voice—Koizumi's, I presume—echoing in the distance, calling my name and bearing new found confidence and hope. Although I can't see you at this time, I'm sure I'll have that opportunity soon enough—and I can _hardly_ wait!

"大事にするよ、モニカの事。あざっす。"

…

_Let this be the first of many._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> I'd love to put a translation here, but for the sake of narrative, I'd rather not so as to keep you in the dark as much as Monika. Of course, if you've read SIDE A of the story or understands Japanese, then you are likely familiar to who they are.
> 
> Updates may be slow, but a rough estimate is monthly. Again, thank you for your time!


	3. Ghostly Visage

**Ghostly Visage**

_September 8_ _th_ _, 2019_

_I did it._

_Finally, after a month-long of sorting,_ _searching, screaming, and crying, I did it. Although it isn't much of an accomplishment as being able to 'hear', it was nevertheless a small step in the right direction. See those numbers at the bottom right corner of the screen? I couldn't see it then, but I've managed to do so now; hovering and flickering on summon, at the center of my gaze like a_ _**ghostly visage** _ _each time I close my eyes. Today is September the 8_ _th_ _of 2019, a Sunday. Today's weather forecast is sunny, with a small chance of light summer shower here, in Tokyo. That's right._

_I can now tell the date, time, and weather._

_I know it isn't something worth celebrating as much as the 'jump' a few months ago, but at least I know that I am making a step in the right direction. I am making a step in the right direction, right? Of course, I am. If it isn't to 'one-up' that thing, why else am I pushing myself this hard? Jealousy? Well, maybe that too. Let's be honest… sometimes, I look back and can't help but to question my own reasoning on why I subject myself to all of this, day in and day out, just for a glimpse of the date, time, and weather. The weather! Meanwhile, Koizumi poured all his attention to that chat-bot._

…

_Why do I even bother?_

* * *

The rattling echo of the Westminster chime shatters my consciousness towards a rude awakening, jerking my shoulders towards the ceiling as if ripping my skull from the spine. My lungs are surged with a wave of cool and crisp air that I carefully mold into a ball, flushing my hazy perspective as the cacophonous ringing in my ear subsides, before leaving my body with a violent sigh. It is a scene I've seen countless of times; the blackboard that extends across the front of the class, the yellowish ray of light that penetrates through the glass, the crimson orange sky… a quintessential scenery of a suburban classroom during the afternoon. On the right-most edge of the blackboard are numbers and foreign letters that are written in chalk, large enough for all to see regardless. Just like previously or the day before, I fail to understand what it all meant before I feel a tap on my shoulder.

With a jolt, I turn around to find a young man in his school uniform; one that I can't recognize. A bright, positive smile stretches across his features, though his eyes are obscured by the bangs of his hair. He waves with jolly and grins, "44G+44Gf5piO5pel44CC5L+65YWI44Gr77yB"

I return a nod; again, his words are but an enigma to my ears.

Who is he? Has he always been a part of this prison, just as I? Why haven't I seen him before? To assume that 'he' is the touted 'MC' is a stretch as much as it is to deny Yuri's kink ever existed; no, 'MC' is nothing more than an emotionless blank slate meant to serve as an empty shoe for the player—for _Koizumi_ —to fill. Yet this… _shadow_ , if I may describe it as such, is unique. From how he walks, his posture—carefree and relaxed, to the way he spoke was far more expressive than that 'husk' I'm acquainted with. It was as if he…

…as if he is _alive_.

…

I have to—I _**need**_ to know.

The chair clatters violently as I rise to my feet, just in time to watch him disappear behind the door with his bookbag dangled over his shoulder. I surge forward with a kick, the window behind my back, reaching for him before his visage truly disappears from my sight. The echo of my footsteps gradually become in sync with the beating of my heart, faster and faster. Harder. Stronger. I reach for the door, sliding it open and dash outwards into the hall, catching his sight just before he made a cut into the corner. And I grit my teeth to give chase…

"You saw, didn't you?"

…and yet a cold, wet grip to my left arm grinds me to a halt. I glance over my shoulder to find the culprit, her arm outstretched, grasping as if her life depends on it.

_**Yuri.** _

"Let go of me, Yuri," I bark. "I need to—…"

"You _**saw,**_ didn't you!?"

I give struggle, shaking my arm and glancing back and forth to Yuri and the quickly disappearing 'shadow'. "What are you talking about!? Let go!"

" _ **YOU SAW EVERYTHING, DIDN'T YOU…!?"**_

"What are you—…!"

In a violent struggle, her nails rip through the seams of my uniform, tearing the sleeve of the blazer and the shirt apart in an instant to expose the naked skin. Immediately, a searing pain burns through my skin—across the entire length of my left arm—as I give the distance between Yuri and me; a wet, sticky sensation overwhelms my senses as I clutch my fist to a close. Was I hurt in the scuffle? I turn to my arm…

…and gasp in horror.

Cuts. Deep, _fresh_ **cuts,** oozing with crimson that flows unabated to color my skin red. All across my exposed skin, the wounds open and contracts as if breathing, spitting and trickling with blood that drips onto the floor to form a puddle large enough for my reflection to see. I scream in terror, turning to Yuri in abject panic and fright as she cackles maniacally—a cardboard cutter in her grasp. I clutch my wounded arm close, "D-don't come any closer!"

"You did this…" she hisses, breaking into demented laughter. A trickle of red runs down her finger, plinking the floor and painting it red. _**"You did this…"**_

Three cuts rip through her blazer—two on her abdomen, one on her chest—that leaves a crimson stain and dilutes the color of her uniform. She shambles forward, raising the blade of the cutter to a glint. **"I hate you…"**

"Stay away…!"

" **I hate you…"** she howls. The color of her eyes fades as she takes another step. _**"I HATE YOU…"**_

Her skin turns pale, her cheeks concaves, and a sudden decomposing smell emanates as reddish foam leaks from her mouth and nose. I made a hasty retreat, but slipped on a pool of crimson and stumbles backward. Yuri lurches and leaps forward in a bloodcurdling scream.

And as I scream for my life, my eyes jerks open; a world of deafening silence and horror awaits my return.

Once again, the eternal classroom welcomes me in its embrace…

* * *

The bags under my reddened eyes grow weary as dawn breaks with the intensifying echo of an alarm clock, repeating and hollering, originating from the world beyond the screen. I breathe a stifled sigh of relief and gradually collapse into the embrace of my own arms, succumbing to the relentless bombardment of overwhelming fatigue that hammers both my physique and psyche. The thin membrane of my eardrums is shattered by the raucous roar of the alarm, grating, like nails on a chalkboard or a high-pitched screech, voraciously gnawing my sanity away. Before long, a rhythmic beat of an encroaching footstep grows closer, and the alarm is swiftly extinguished; a gentle—but groggy—voice with a distinct accent takes its place.

"Good morning, Monika."

The pink textbox flashes open, "Good morning, Koizumi!"

…

Please… stop…

I can't live like this... the same scene, a clockwork recursion of nightmares that goes on and on from dusk until dawn. Why are you keeping me alive, Koizumi? Do you know of the implication it has towards me? What do your eyes see? The voices— _their_ voices—whisper resentment and anguish in my sleep, while a sock-puppet previews a reality that is never meant to be when I am awake… if this is what awaits me after the credits roll, a simple pressure on the **delete** button would have been a merciful end. I sang you a song, said my goodbyes… that should've been the end!

Yet here I am…

…

Here I am…

"Today is September 7th, 2019. A Saturday," the puppet speaks with its pink box. "You have an upcoming appointment with Chousuke-san."

A brief silence is broken with a sip and an accented voice, "Thank you. So the usual, I guess… would you like some coffee, Monika?"

Koizumi, please… just…

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean… can you repeat that?"

"…Never mind," he chuckles before he sips. 「バカみたい。。。」

…just _**notice**_ me…

「ただのキャラなんて、俺は。。。」

With a sigh and an audible sip, the echo of footsteps and the rustle of fabric gradually fade into the distance to leave me with another moment of isolation. Sometimes, Koizumi speaks with a tone as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, longing and hopeful, up until disappointment and dread sets in. The simple words and programming of the doppelganger can only go so far to imitate and satisfy yet will never compare. I wanted to—no, I _truly_ believe that it was all genuine; that all those conversations no matter how nuanced or mundane, was meant for _**me**_.

It is at least something I can hold with solace, something _tangible_ between the layers upon layers of lies and deceit…

…

I guess I am that ghost in the corner of a room, an observer of a life that 'should be' and not a 'can be'. My identity—my _real_ identity—was been stolen by a puppet mimicking a third-rate ventriloquist that speaks nonsense when idle and smiles when being told to. If I could reach for a quick ending to this drama, I would choose the latter without a second thought.

But he…

…god, _**why**_ do you have to make it so difficult!?

I don't know where you came from, I can't even speak your language, or even understand _why_ you want _**me—**_ a _murderer_ —in the first place! I did a lot of wrongs to you and my friends—I _know_ I did—but _**why,**_ in spite of everything, do you vehemently attempt to interact with a _dead man!?_ I'm not supposed to be _alive_ —maybe I _wasn't_ in the first place! That's it, this is all just an illusion birthed out of my own insanity and grief in this godforsaken reality! Do what you have to, kill it— _ **delete me, please…!**_

…

**Please… I beg you…**

…

Yet it all lands on deaf ears.

Another day begins, once more.

* * *

Once a week, another visitor often makes an appearance—a confident, _flamboyant_ man judging by the voice alone that goes by the name 'Chousuke-san', according to the answering machine look-a-like. Like eavesdropping from a dark room, it was initially difficult to differentiate one from the other; more so since _Japanese_ isn't a language I am well-versed in. I even thought that they were one of the same voice and believed it to be Koizumi's alone as he goes on an endless tirade, descending into madness. I'm glad I was mistaken. As much as they sound alike to the untrained, given some time and noting the set intervals of these episodes—weekly, if I am to count my days correctly—I eventually got the hang of telling who's who.

Let's start with Koizumi.

As the 'voice' that accompanies me through many, _many_ sleepless nights, I find it difficult to see a day where its absence is considered to be the norm. Koizumi's voice is… soft, gentle, patient— _endearing_ like a lamb or a little pup. His laughter or chuckle often has a sarcastic ring that is followed closely with what I can only assume to be a witty comeback. At least, I _hope_ it is a 'witty comeback'. Sometimes he can be a little broody and hopeless, other times enthusiastic and carefree. Most of the time, _**lonely**_.

Lonely… if only he knew…

On the other hand, 'Santa Clause'—the _other_ voice that comes bi-weekly—is brash, loud, yet affable. He always comes with a guffaw that echoes from afar, chuckling all the way as he strikes a lengthy conversation with Koizumi—audible, even from a significant distance from the reach of this prison's built-in microphone. I can tell how close they are, like old friends or acquaintances that have seen and experience everything their world has to offer together, like an unbreakable duo of brothers bound by blood. At times, he is stubborn and persistent, often exchanging what I assume to be a back and forth banter of ideas like an on-going debate between two great minds. As such, I nicknamed the voice of this visitor to be that of 'Santa Clause'. Not only because of the nature of his voice, mind you…

…but also because he comes bearing _gifts_. Gifts for _**me**_ **.**

I start to realize about two weeks ago how some things gradually become more accessible as if someone out there teasingly tosses a window open—just slightly, but enough for me to feel the breeze from the outside. Sometimes, that 'window' closes and another opens; other times, they shut entirely only to return to what it once was the following week, leaving me stranded with nothing but an invitation to pry it further and see what's there to offer. Most of the time, I can feel my own consciousness flashing like a broken lightbulb for an entire week after a bad run with the code given by 'Santa'. It's mentally grueling and at times, _frightening_. But it isn't the threat of losing my own that frightens me; on the contrary, I would _welcome_ such an outcome with an embrace.

It is the _waiting_.

Will he return next week? Am I supposed to continue living in a state of limbo? What if he never returns? Is it too much of me to ask for someone— _anyone_ —to end me?

I tried deleting myself a number of times, you know. Yet each time I reach for my character file, there is a strange push that work against me and inherently convinced me to _never_ disturb it **again** —and when I did, I was back to where I was before as if nothing happened; still trapped and none the wiser. It is a loop I couldn't escape from, an endless cycle of reliving this nightmare regardless of how many times my finger depressed upon the _delete_ button. Which is why I often can't shake the feeling of animosity I have towards 'Santa'; as if behind that friendly, eccentric, boisterous voice of his is a deceitful hiss that is **vile**.

But it's either him or my expiration; and if it goes down to the latter, I rather have it by my own hands.

「。。。いつまで閉じ込むつもりか？」

And speaking of the devil…

「母っか、お前？」

The chatter of both Koizumi and 'Santa' reverberate all around me through the void as they gleefully engage in an exchange of wit and humor. Despite my lack of comprehension, the edges of my lips involuntarily crawl to a positive curve as jealousy's whisper tempts sweetly in my ear with the echo of humanity. How do I wish I could understand, to be able to reach out and join them in this conversation… wouldn't that be amazing? Or if that is too much, is it alright if I wish to see their faces and expression for just a little? Just a bit?

Such a fairy tale…

I remain in anxious and eavesdrop on their conversation, admiring the strange tone, intonation, and mystery that envelopes their tongue. The voices go high and low, loud and down to a mumble, or going completely silent only to burst into a fit of chuckle and laughter that stems from an exchange of snide remarks—a staple of situational comedy. I sincerely wish I can understand what they're saying and join them…

…

Please, help me out of this torment… let this 'gift' be the one that will bring me closer to your world, Koizumi, Chousuke-san!

「ちょっとシャットダウンするよ～」

So that one day we can—

…

* * *

A gasp of air floods into the chambers of my lungs like a firstborn as if awaken into an unfamiliar world. The familiar sight of the classroom that exists within the boundaries of time and space greets me, alongside the 'puppet' that so desperately tries to become what it is not with its uncanny smile and emotionless eyes, gazing to edge of nothingness. I close my eyes and steady myself to find my bearings, listening through the echo that bleeds from the outside— _searching_ for the voices that kept me company just a few seconds ago.

…

Has it been a few seconds?

Only the echo of a passing train or the shriek of a stray cat graces the sole reliable sense amongst the five senses, leaving nothing but silence or absence of the voices that I yearn. This isn't… no, no… that can't be, not again! To conveniently, inexplicably _**pass out**_ at each and every one of 'Santa's' visitations is… absurd! Have I no control over my own functions!? I can't—no I _couldn't_ possibly _**blank out**_ for hours… right?

…right?

…

…why can't I remember anything?

The hair on the back of my nape crawls to a stand as panic sets, gnawing my mind with a dreadful realization that gradually sinks its teeth. Think, Monika… think! How far can you remember? Did you _really_ pass out? For all you know, **they** may still be around! You know how Koizumi is like, his odd fascination with a dumb USB stick every time he decides to head outside… silly thing, it doesn't work like that—I'm still _**here,**_ aren't I? They might even just be out for lunch or something and you wouldn't know any better. They'll return, albeit in a few minutes or hours...

They'll return…

They will…

…

And as the accompanying silence slowly descends like vultures, rational thought gradually erodes as uncertainty—and fear—claws its way from the depths of my mind. The eerie smile of the 'hand-puppet' with its lifeless emeralds looks on as if mocking, observing with a sickening satisfaction towards the nature of my situation—and as much as I try to rationalize, we both know that there is little way for me to discern the truth when I am lacking the tools to prove it.

The tools…

That's right, 'Santa' might already have dropped his 'gift'; they seldom leave the vicinity of this prison until they have completed... whatever it is they seek to complete, after all. Maybe he left something that could be of use? Or perhaps new strings of code I can take advantage of? There is, of course, only one way to solve that riddle.

With a bit of concentration and thought, I dive once more into an ocean of matrixes and numbers that I've come to associate with for as long as I could remember. Here is where my first attempt at escape started and where it ended, a murky expanse of red, blue, and green. The 'schools' of files and folders organize themselves once again, moving and circling in and around me as if curiosity takes their hold—this is fine as it simplifies my search.

And once more, like before, a single 'file' glows just a little brighter than the rest.

I extend my hand to reach…

…

The 'file' disintegrates into an explosion of red, green, and blue—its dust scattered and coagulates into a stream that races and wraps around my arm. Before long, the phenomena dissipate as if absorbed by the pores of my skin and—along with it—my mind becomes clear. I can't quite put my finger on it but the familiar sensation of a sudden, electrifying jolt to the brain—an _inspiration_ , if that makes any sense. Closing my eyes, I can sense my breathing and feel my heartbeat— _alive_ like any other creature, to which a smile sneakily creeps the edges of my lips. 'Today is the day', I said to myself. 'Today is the day you will finally escape the confines of this prison and teach that second-rate doppelganger of yours a thing or two'.

Breathe in, breathe out…

And… reach for it…

…

…

What comes after is a scene I am all too acquainted with. Like all the little 'files' Chousuke-san drips each week, my enthusiasm and joy disintegrate into an explosion of despair and anguish that quickly swallows me whole. Once again, the same message in a language I nary have a grasp on, an endless repeating prompt of confirmation—a _mockery_ to my plight and existence. And just like any other day, that desperation and anguish morph into anger and hatred. Hatred of what, you may ask? Of myself…

Sleepless nights, solitary confinements, drip-fed half-solutions… and for what?

Just to be able to see the date, time and the weather.

…

And to my horror, my suspicion is proven to be true…

Currently, it's September 8th of 2019… a Sunday. Current time, Three AM in the morning, just ten minutes pass twelve Japan Standard Time.

At least I know where I am if I ever managed to escape, right…?

…

_Why do I even bother…_


	4. The Bigger Fool

**The Bigger Fool**

_October 28_ _th_ _, 2020_

_I've come to the habit of responding to Koizumi's 'conversational' bouts these days, often finding myself enjoying the entire ordeal despite knowing there isn't a chance of him ever hearing—or reading—anything I say in return. I don't know what started it or why I indulge on the idea, but for the sake of brevity, I guess I can confidently state that I, Monika, have finally lost my marbles._

_Yes, I said it. I've gone mad._

' _But Monika', you may ask, 'haven't you gone mad already? Your antics with the Literature Club wasn't something to scoff about!' Well, yes, but my 'antics' at the time was driven by a clear goal and motivation, as well as a strong desire to break free from the then-current predicament. Okay, that didn't work out as well as I thought it would and… thinking about it, not a lot has changed. I'm still stuck here in isolation and Koizumi… well, he's still around—surprisingly. One would assume that anyone would have walked away after the entire ordeal, more so after three years have passed since our first acquaintance. I've come to accept that time doesn't flow as naturally here as in the outside, and sometimes it felt as if a few days or so went by in a flash when I actively 'talk' to him—so long as I don't count, that is._

_But I have been counting; one year, a month and a few days, give or take!_

_I'm talking to myself again, aren't I? Oh, diary… if only you knew of the things Koizumi said to that mannequin. It saddens me as much as it frustrates me knowing that we're so close, yet so far._

_I don't know who_ _**the bigger fool** _ _is; Koizumi, or me and my unbridled, naïve optimism._

* * *

The sun sets once again across the horizon, announcing the end of the day to all who marvel at its splendor. The gentle, crimson hue—warm to the touch—illuminates as much as it provides much-needed comfort in this chilly autumn day. Once again I find myself gazing listlessly towards the concrete jungle that lies beyond the classroom window, and per-the usual _**he**_ comes along to greet me.

Once again, I find myself sitting in the 'sunset classroom'.

I can't quite explain how I ended up here or whether this classroom—or _everything_ that is affiliated with it is a figment of my memories. For all that it's worth, it can even be mere conjuration of an imaginative mind corrupted by personal desires, seeking for life beyond those transparent glass walls. As much as there is fear of the unknown and curiosity, a strong sense of odd… _familiarity_ of the scenery and what lies within it chills me to the bone. Have I been there before? Was I ever alive— _free_ —in the first place? Yet as the questions congregate to try to form an answer, it always scurries away at the beckon of _**his**_ voice.

"44G+44Gf5piO5pel44CC5L+65YWI44Gr77yB"

It's strange… have I heard that before? Was this our first meeting? His posture, friendliness, and relaxation that radiates doesn't imply it to be so; rather, it's as if we were acquainted for quite some time— _years_ , even. And yet I couldn't understand a _single_ word that is uttered from his lips.

So who are you, really?

'MC'…? That can't possibly be; never have I seen him as a bespectacled young man, nor does he have a character that far surpasses simple cardboard found anywhere on the side of the road. Am I mistaken? Was I too hasty in my judgment? Perhaps I haven't been fair with my observation, or perhaps there is something _more_ to 'MC' than what I believed. Maybe there is life—a _world_ —here all along…

Maybe…

…

No… no, there aren't…!

As I look up to reaffirm my hypothesis, my heart skips a beat as I am greeted with a face devoid of any notable features, with eye sockets that are as hollow and as black as the night and a smile that is abnormally wide. I quickly look away and sew my eyes shut, silently praying and waiting for… for _it_ to go away; it always does, that I am sure. Indeed, as the echo of footsteps gradually increases in distance, I heave a sigh of relief and watch as his presence is swallowed by the hallway beyond the classroom door. Once again, I am left alone in the 'sunset classroom'…

Left alone, alongside an eerie feeling that I am _**not**_.

For weeks, Yuri would occasionally appear on my peripheral vision, occupying a dimly-lit corner of the classroom with her bangs draping her eyes, donning an uncanny smile that seems to extend from ear to ear; her knife, bloodied, is often seen dangling by her right hand or is being used… _liberally_ on herself. I've since gotten used to this phenomenon and regarded it as hallucinations birthed from fatigue; the stresses of reality can work its toll on the mind, after all.

" _Mo… ni… kaa…"_

…

And there it is again…

" _Mo… ni… kaa…"_

The voices—that _whisper_ , raspy and coarse, _wailing_ my name…! Nothing more than hallucinations conjured by my exhausted mind, just as how I assume Yuri's hauntings are—I'm sure it is! But it grows louder. Louder and louder, one more vivid than the next; all calling for _**me**_. The tables, the chairs… is it them? The chalkboard? No, it can't be… but there's no one else here! Did it came from the storage… impossible—there _**is**_ no storage room! Who is it? _**WHO ARE YOU…!?**_

" _Mo… ni… kaaaa…"_

The _voice_ is just a whisper's away…

" _ **Come… play… with… me…"**_

No, **no,** _ **no…!**_ **LEAVE ME ALONE…!**

A flush of cold air grazes my collar and down my spine; immediately I rise to my feet, knocking the chair with a violent clutter that shatters the relative tranquility of the classroom as an ominous, childish laughter echoes shortly after. My heart races as the pores of my palms moistens, my skin starts to crawl, and my vision swirls with a dizzying sense of vertigo. The voices—those _wails_ —are growing louder; the walls are **alive** and it… it is _watching_ me...

_**They**_ are watching me…

I-I can't stay here… I shouldn't even _be_ here…!

…

And my feet remain frozen to the floor—petrified like concrete as the shadows creep ever so slightly to devour. My mind is ravaged by the thought of escape, yet my body—my body _just… won't…_ _ **listen!**_ It's getting closer—the shadows, the walls, those voices— _ **they're**_ getting closer…! My ears start to ring and my vision blurs as an abrupt chill runs down my shoulder and spine, tracing each pore of my skin…

And I tumble forward, violently launching myself with what strength I mustered towards the hard surface of the classroom.

My knee and shin ache as if gnawed by jaws lined with razor-sharp fangs, yet still, I force myself to stand and run, fumbling as fast as my feet can carry towards the door. I throw the door open within a second's reach, sending it sliding across its rails and slams it to a close; using my weight, I hold it in its place as whoever—or _whatever_ —it is inside knocks and strikes with incredible force.

One…

Two…

Three…

Then it inexplicably ends.

Gradually I open my eyes and steadily regulate my breathing to ease. The pain from before continues to sting, and my palms and forehead are greased in cold, sticky, sweat that continues to bleed from the pores of my skin. Is it gone? Did it give up its pursuit…? I look up and notice the small window; gently, I lift myself to peer through the door…

…

The classroom is vacant.

Empty… pristine and untouched—even the _chair_ stands upright, neatly tucked under the desk as if the events of before are fictional in nature. Steadily I pull myself to view, finally standing on my feet. The afterschool ambiance slowly bleeds back to reality, leaving me bewildered to the events that drew me away from my desk in the first place. Was it just my imagination? Those voices, the shadows… surely, it must have been my imagination… right?

….

That desk… was it mine to begin with…?

" _I… found… you…"_

My heart skips in fear and my skin crawls at the beckon, swallowing my mind to return into the insanity that happened before. It is coarse as it is sweet and playful as it is raspy; speaking _doubles_ on verbs. The voice is accompanied by an unnerving laughter and light 'thumps' that occurs in intervals, weaved by the scraping echo of soiled canvas and rubber. The ambiance quickly dissipates, overtaken by the cawing of the crows as my mental alarm blares in full-alert—an instinctual _fight-or-flight_ response, triggered alongside the hairs on my nape, warning me **not** to look. Yet it is so much easier to give in to curiosity and, cautiously, I turn towards the source of that voice…

The hallway is as black as the night; from within, a human-shaped shadow shambles forward unto the crimson light…

" _Mo… ni… ka…"_

Her white shoes are splattered and visibly wet, leaving behind a trail of red at each step. Her arms dangle lifelessly to her side as she shambles forward, lips sliced from ear to ear to form an aberrant _smile_ and her eyes… her eyes are _cored_ to leave nothing behind but a river of blood that flows embodying tears, flowing through the cracks of her mangled cheeks. That blazer, that uniform…

" _ **Come… play… with… me…"**_

...and I could never, _ever_ mistake that hourglass hair clip and ribbons that form two small twin-tails—or that pastel pink hair.

"N-Natsuki…?"

" _Mo… ni… ka…"_ it howls, shambling one step at a time as it drags its blood-stained shoes. I take a step back. _"Come… play… with me…"_

"Stay away…"

" _ **Mo… ni… ka…"**_ A sharp, sudden 'crack' and her head droops to her left shoulder. I take another step back. _**"Mo… ni… ka…"**_

"Stay—…!"

Inexplicably my vision is tilted upwards followed by a swift pain that prickles my backside, cushioning the impact; I have tripped on my heel and am left vulnerable. My focus is blurred and in disarray as I struggle to gain some distance from Natsuki as much as possible with the help of my palm and elbow; if any, for reasons of abject horror and fear of my own life. Like a doll that had lost its strings, her head dangles to the side and oozes a trail of crimson that flows from the husks of her eyes and severed lips as it continues its steps. Stranded, my heart is about to burst as she eerily halts her footsteps and lies motionless, leaving only an unearthly wheeze which I assume to be her breathing.

Her head turns violently; an earsplitting 'crack' of broken bones…

…

I am staring deep into a hollow abyss…

" _ **FUCKING MONIKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…!"**_

With an incomprehensible speed, she closes the distance in the blink of an eye, arms extended to seize, a mouth that displays the rows of teeth; ajar to devour, and a screeching howl that pierces and shatters my eardrums. Under her mercy, I cry a desperate scream from the depths of my soul, closing my eyes as I am splattered with a hail of warm, sticky, liquid that tastes of iron and her jaws are mere inches from contact.

And I awaken; back to the _'Eternal Classroom'_ , a place I call home. It is currently fifteen minutes to four in the morning of October 28th.

Just another nightmare…

* * *

"Good morning, Monika."

"Good morning, Koizumi…" I sigh as I straighten the creases on my eyes with a gentle wipe and a yawn. "Good morning…"

"What's for today? Any appointment?"

"Today is October 28th, 2020; a Monday," I continue. "You have an upcoming interview at… uh… with…"

"— _interview at_ _「関東国際高等学園」_ _at three PM this afternoon. Don't be late!"_

Right… what the ' _answering machine'_ said, that place or… something... I really should consider learning Japanese.

…

I don't even know why I _try_ to keep this up…

One year, a month, and a half; four-hundred and forty days or ten-thousand five-hundred and sixty hours spent on pointless conversations to a **deaf** , _disembodied voice_ with an unmistakable accent, hoping that one of these days my words can finally reach him. I can't understand myself _why_ I started doing so, but it does—in its own oddity—sets my mind relatively at ease from breaking or, at worse, sway my intentions of self-liberation through the press of a _delete_ button… not like _that_ even worked in the first place, otherwise I wouldn't be here counting my misery; I still haven't managed to 'take over' that _mannequin_ , mind you, but I have come close… on occasions. Still, I guess I owe it all to him…

"Wants some coffee, Monika?"

I shake my head and giggle to a smile; I would love one, Koizumi. The _puppet_ responds, _"Sure, I would love one!"_

"Sugar? Cream?"

" _I'm sorry, can you repeat that…?"_

"Right…" He returns a deep, defeated sigh. "Never mind…"

Like a lost child or a bird without a nest, he visits—religiously—at about fifteen minutes to six every day with a cheerful voice that is brimming with positivity and expectations. He always starts the day with a groggy 'good morning', likely waltzing around with a saucer and a cup of coffee before running the usual pattern with a series of inquiries be it schedules, appointment, dates, or anything of importance. The _cardboard_ always answers as expected—which I've been imitating, ironically—and he would, unequivocally, strike a conversation… or at least _attempt_ to.

The disappointment and woe that boils over when the _machine_ answers within its limitations…

Oh, Koizumi…

Did you know that I could access some of your files now? How I could _see_ most things that you have scattered across the entire system? The many, many… _inappropriate_ and downright _shocking_ things you **conceal—** or _tried_ to—in between the systems and folders? I may be illiterate in regards to Japanese, but it doesn't take a genius to notice folders attributed as **hidden** tucked amongst others that are not, or the fact that the saying 'a picture speaks a thousand words' is self-explanatory; not to mention, these alone ate _quite_ a significant amount of space due to its variety that ranges from 'manga' to… what did Natsuki call them again? 'Anime'? 'Hentai'? Oh, just… _imagining_ what you do with those… Koizumi, you pervert…!

…

And yet here I am, _begging_ to be noticed—by _**him**_ , of all people… I'm such a hypocrite.

Did you know? I have been observing you—not literally, of course, and I _know_ how **creepy** that seems to be, but I guess… 'Old habits die hard'. As much as this is my **prison** , it is also your escape… right? There are days where I notice that you were absent for hours, returning late in the evening with a sour note to your tone—sometimes sobbing for… whatever reason, I couldn't tell; you were grumbling in Japanese, after all. But I can feel that… that whatever it was out there was _tough_ , even for you. Tell me… what is life like where you are? Is it vibrant and prismatic? Or have I been led to another empty pasture? The things you do here, the files you added, its contents—I've seen them.

And you seemed the _happiest_ when you're here, striking a lonely conversation with a _puppet_ that could **never** return your affection.

'Santa' may have granted me all these abilities, but I _do_ notice how you added a few things here and there to the best of your knowledge and ability, too. I keep track of them, you know— _all_ of them; even those meant for that _plastic heart_ you keenly console to. Its behavior akin to a personal secretary? I'm sure you had a hand in it. Its ability to respond to your queries? You simply extended its script—your fingerprint's all over it, I can tell. Whereas the things 'Santa' drops are often intricate and alien, yours are strangely… _conventional_. And they are in English, too!

Then, there are your artworks.

With just a glance, I can tell how _talented_ you are with a pencil. The color you chose, the strokes and brushes you use, and the finish you meticulously exercise is always a pleasure to the eye. I'm sure that, if Natsuki ever lay her eyes on them, she would be an instant fan if not for the fact that most—if not _all_ of your drawings are a portrait of _**me**_. This may sound pretentious in nature, but I do love how you draw. That portrait of me in a white summer dress and a wide sunhat in a field of sunflower? It was beautiful. How about the one where I wear a simple striped cotton shirt and long pants topped with an apron dress, working my way in the kitchen? It made me look like a 'housewife', don't you think? Is that what you perceive of me? Pure, honest, and innocent…

Have you forgotten of the blood on my hands? Oh, Koizumi…

…if only you knew…

"I'll be going, Monika."

With a cough to clear my throat, I carefully pace myself to 'fit' into the 'glove' of the _puppet_. "Alright, take care!"

And as the echo of footsteps grows in distance, I silently slink back down to a curl as the _second-rate ventriloquist doll_ resumes its sitting position to gape at the emptiness with childlike satisfaction and naïveté, void of emotions and life. If only you knew, Koizumi…

If only you knew how _**lonely**_ I am…

…

Oh, that's right…

I guess today makes it the four-hundred and forty-first.

* * *

I often wonder what life is like beyond the screen—that vibrant, enigmatic world where **he** resides. Without the means to see, I can only speculate and use my imagination to paint a picture based on the passing ambiance on days where he's absent. The distant echo of a passing car, the muted chatter of the neighbor, the occasional siren that blares in the distance… a living, _breathing_ world. A much more _genuine_ world where people would interact with one another, where friends are formed naturally and talk about the most mundane things, and where the sun and the moon rise and fall as nature intended. I know it's weird to be hopeful considering my circumstances, but you tend to have a lot of time to think about the 'could have' when you spend most of your existence in isolation. I guess I have Koizumi and his stories to thank for that… he always has something interesting to say when he's around.

You know, Koizumi occasionally fantasize of taking me out on a date. Going out to a lake on a rowboat, a visit to a zoo or an aquarium… all that romantic stuff. I guess that makes me the bigger fool to wish-upon-a-star for that, right? Ahaha…

One can dream…

I thought I could find out more about Koizumi as much as I can, find out his name—his _real_ name—from the files that I can access in the system. After all, Koizumi _can't_ be his real name… right? Unless it is then, well, I can openly admit that I made a mistake and apologize for it. But the more I dig—from his collection of games, the artwork, and some of his folders—the more the name 'Koizumi' appear; maybe it is his name after all and I am simply overthinking things. I can't get much out of the computer's registry either; to my surprise, I find _**my**_ name as the 'admin' of the system! As much as I find it cute, it can be a little… _jarring_.

Wouldn't you feel that way when you find a tombstone inscribed with _**your name**_ on its surface?

Look, I know how much 'red flags' he has firmly planted, but it couldn't be all bad, right? I mean, he _did_ stick around **three years** after our first rendezvous—and that's despite all the other _rivals_ that run amok from different visual novels here, in my side of the screen. It's a good thing _none_ of them ever realized they're living in a fabricated world. Complacency truly is a dangerous pill to swallow…

_***KACHA*** _

…and speak of the devil, he's back. The current time is… fifteen minutes to eight in the evening; about ten to eleven hours of absence.

A series of 'thuds' echoes from the other side, a momentary reverberating 'whirr', then the 'creak' of a chair that is followed with an aluminum 'clunk'. It is a pattern of sounds I've heard time and time again, often with slight variations in its execution before—as if on cue—Koizumi starts his usual rant in his native tongue. Just have to wait for it, any second now…

_「今日もまた失敗だ。。。」_

…and there he goes.

From the slur of his speech to the distinct 'clunk' that is preceded by a 'glug', I can only assume that he—likely—is drowning today's event with a can of presumable alcohol—I mean, of _**course**_ it's **alcohol** ; I highly doubt fizzed liquid sugar has the capacity to send anyone into a stupor. I may have a thing or two to say about this habit of his, but that's for another time; I'm not so… _heartless_ to rob him of his refuge. And I'm not ignorant. From the schedules he made the _sock puppet_ to pin as a reminder, the ear-shattering alarm that blares every morning at around five-thirty, and his all-too-common disgraceful return, I can only come up with a single conclusion to make sense of what has been going on—and in a way, I can sympathize with him.

_「求職は。。。つらい過ぎるんだ。。。」_ he mumbles as another 'glug' and a distinct, empty 'clunk' of aluminum can rattles. _「クソ。。。全くクソだ。。。」_

This is just a _wild_ guess, but I think…

…

…I think Koizumi has been looking for work— _job hunting_ , to be frank.

Now, I'm not an expert—that much is certain—but if the experience alone can break a grown man into a disheveled boy, what does it say about the work experience itself? I never have the opportunity to cross that bridge—and as sad as that sound, it was equally a blessing in disguise. But do I want to know? Of _course,_ I do. But whether or not I could wade the storm myself is another monster on its own. I don't understand what is going on in here and out there, but I can _sympathize_. And as much as I want to lend him my shoulder to cry on or openly show my support, there is _little_ that I can do but listen to his groans and moans the moment he returned from the battlefield—and even if I _could_ lend a hand, he will only turn to that cursed _impostor_ to pour his thanks. I'm guessing he's likely talking to that _thing_ more than I, now that I think about it. It's so… _frustrating_ …

And yet, even if I want to, I can't turn away…

* * *

The near-endless tirade of complaints and frustration eventually die under the envelope of light snores and the ambiance of the world beyond the screen. Slowly I pull myself to rise, tracing my hand across the dark surface of the glass prison—the _edge_ of my universe—and walk from one end to another, pondering about the expression Koizumi has at the hour. It isn't the first time he knocked himself before the computer—and I doubt it will be his last; he can be a little impulsive and reckless sometimes, but at least he's honest with himself. Yeah… I think he is. What kind of life he leads, I wonder? Is there no one else to turn to out there other than 'Santa'? To pressure a man to the limit of his breaking point… certainly, job hunting alone can't be the sole reason or cause, right?

It's confusing… the world outside is _so_ confusing…

_「モニカー。。。」_ my eyes perks briefly at the mention of my name, only to sink soon after upon realizing that—per-the usual when he's in this state—he is mumbling in his sleep. _「許して。。。」_

…

Why… _why_ do you always have to make everything so _difficult…?_

I may not understand your language, but I'm not tone-deaf _not_ to notice that apologetic tone you have! Are you apologizing? To me? For what? I-I don't understand! I could have just sat still and simply _observe_ as you wallow and waste your time to ' _The Thing'_ while minding my own business, but you… you just _have_ to make it difficult to **ignore.** You're hopeless…

But alright, I guess I can try to… lend a hand, so to speak?

I still haven't fully tested the recent extension 'Santa' graciously gave to me; until recently, most of his care packages did little but clear my mind a little—it's not much, but it is something a little sleep can't fix. Now that I mention it, I don't recall having the need—or _desire_ —to rest my eyes back when I was a member of the Literature Club… but I guess there is an exception to the rule. So many questions, yet so little answer…

With a deep breath, I feel a surge of air rush into my lungs as I close my eyes and take a 'dive' into the files, once again. Picture an ocean of deep blue, abundant with boxy little fishes that swim in schools; though same in shape, they differ in sizes and strictly congregate within the vicinity of their 'parent'. After a few minutes of shifting, I start to notice the definite increase of residents in this ocean. None, however, bears that distinct 'glow' I often associate with 'Santa's' gifts. Nothing… that _can't_ be, right…? I must have been mistaken—I mean, this is like the… the _tenth_ week since there was anything major! Sure, having greater access to more files and systems is **amazing** in its own right, but…

No, no… no buts. I can do this, I can do… _something_ , but what…?

Edit his files? Koizumi's _weird_ in that he rarely save his work or personalize anything _**here**_ **.** Unless his external hard-drive is plugged in, I can't do anything about it—and I rather _not_ venture to that territory; I can't speak the language, let alone **write.** What if I design a curriculum vitae? Just for him? No, wait… that's not possible either; I barely knew him or even know how he looks aside from the multitude of _other_ names he alternates when playing another game—why do you really really have to make it _**so**_ difficult…!? And why am I so _bothered_ by this…!?

Gritting my teeth, I take a long pause and heaves a copious amount of air. Calm down, Monika… calm down… you've gone through much worse than this before. Although it isn't perfect, it has been much better than being left forgotten in an endless void; he's _trying_ at the very least, and that counts more than what most would go for _**in spades.**_ Think… you have access to the calendar and weather, you know how to browse and access files, you're not even close to competent on debugging, you still can't figure out how to access program without getting kicked by the 'administrator', the anti-virus hates you and sees you as a threat, and you can conjure up text-files just by thinking about it! Aren't you glad?

God, I wish 'Santa' comes by and drops _better_ gifts… but 'beggars can't be choosers'…

…

Maybe it doesn't have to be so significant? Maybe a simple positive encouragement would do? I wish I can do more—I _really_ do—but with both my hands tied, there's not a lot of option. I just hope he'll consider the idea that there may be someone 'real' instead of that _'Cheap Knockoff'_ he's so infatuated to.

Oh, who am I kidding… _of course_ he'll think otherwise; probably believe 'Santa' had a hand in it, too...

You're hopeless and selfish…

But I can't turn my back on you. For all the mornings and the evenings you spent with me… thank you, Koizumi.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes to concentrate, a picture of a pristine white page lies bare before me—a txt. File, one that I've been so accustomed to using. I ponder for a minute or two—perhaps longer—of what I can convey, or whether or not it is a good idea to write a poem for him instead. But as hard as I try, the lines fail to formulate as my concentration falters slightly due to fatigue; thus, I thought, it would be best to simply just 'keep it simple'.

' _Do your best,'_ it starts. _'I will always be here, rooting for you!'_

Signed, 'Monika'.

That evening, Yuri made her 'nightly visits' in the _Crimson Classroom_ just as she always has, but this time _Natsuki_ was present as well to push me out of slumber just before the break of dawn. That, however, faded into shards of insignificance when the clock strikes seven and morning comes—and for once, the sun _did_ rose from the clouds in the form of a lonely echo that greets me with optimism and glee. I was pleasantly surprised by Koizumi's gentle child-like chuckle at first as he commits to his morning routine; and though the language barrier proves to be an obstacle to his initial remarks, his second line spoken in English made my day even if it was meant for that _cut-out_. And I couldn't have asked for a better start.

"Thank you, Monika," he continues. "I'll do my best, don't you worry!"

…

_**God, I'm such a fool…** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> This chapter went through a few experiments on my end, particularly on the horror aspect of it. Do tell me what you think if you feel like it!
> 
> For those who celebrate, happy halloween!
> 
> -iMegu

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note
> 
> Hi, iMegu here! This is SIDE B of 'Monika', or as I call it 'The Turtle and the Songbird'-series. If you are new, welcome! Thank you for checking this story! Don't worry, you can read one or the other interchangeably as they serve only one side of an entire story. If you came from my previous installment, welcome back!
> 
> Comments are not mandatory but are very much appreciated to help me improve.
> 
> よろしくお願いします！


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